A Spy Story
by Queen
Summary: Spies everywhere! A top Republic operative has uncovered information on a new, mysterious CIS superweapon. Getting to the operative and getting the datafile with the blueprints will be no easy task - nor will it be easy to get the encrypted data back into the Republic. Co-written, with today's new ficlet by spikala!
1. Clone and Gungan: Spies at Large

_A Spy Story_

* * *

Clone and Gungan: Spies at Large  
(by: _reulte_)

* * *

Stone felt uncomfortable without his blaster, he felt uncomfortable without his red-trimmed armor and he felt _kriffing_ uncomfortable without his helmet keeping him in touch with everything going on throughout his command and territory.

MI-23 had given him some trinkets from their experimental shop but nothing with the heft and stopping power of his DC-15S blasters and Commander Stone had almost been sorry he had volunteered. Still, they said it could be dangerous and there was almost no danger in his daily duties as security escort for Senate dignitaries and planetary diplomats.

"Remember," said the tall, spindly Twi'lek known as Qek as he handed over the last of the items - a lighter that was a neural paralyzer as well as useful for starting fires, "an agent is only as good as his gadgets." He had already handed over a holo-recorder/stress detector/laser disguised as a designer chronograph which rested heavily on Stone's wrist and, of all the ridiculousness, a comm unit built into the polished luxury gundark-hide half-boots he wore. What did they expect him to do? Walk around with a shoe to his ear?

Stone decided that MI-23 watched too many of those silly Bames Jond adventure holovids he heard about; with incredible gadgets, improbable plots and evil geniuses. A few of his troopers enjoyed them but Stone preferred his manuals. Stone did not consider a sense of humor a valuable asset to a clonetrooper.

Leaning only slightly against the bar, Stone assessed the situation; the room, the people, the possibilities. It was the Royale; the most expensive resort-hotel in Coruscant. Above him was the curved bubble of an anti-gravity pool focusing the light onto the stage. Other lights were spaced discretely around the lobby/nightclub/casino providing areas of cool brightness interspersed with shadows. None of the tables were empty though only one table had a single person.

He was to recognize the contact by the code words 'Have you ever been invited to a night at the opera?'. Stone decided MI-23 definitely watched too many Bames Jond holos.

He eyed the woman at the nearest table, alone listening to the singer. But not because he thought she was his contact. Her lithe body swayed gently in time to the music, her eyes half-closed in pleasure and she was wearing a filmy concoction that looked like a large sheet of damp, translucent flimsi around her lean body. There appeared to be no fastenings and the material seemingly held on to her body with so many crisscrossed ribbons and bands that he had to ask.

"How do you get into that," he gestured his hand to the dress.

She turned more fully to him, her jade-colored eyes sweeping from his wide shoulders to his trim waist - her eyes lingering on his groin for longer than Stone through necessary for a full assessment of his gender - and moved on down to his muscular thighs.

"Buying me a drink is a good start," she purred, her eyelids fluttering demurely.

Stone had seen that look - though never directed at the anonymous escort in white armor - a measuring, devouring look that women gave some of the politicians; some of the powerful or royal principals he escorted like Prince Bail Organa or the Chancellor himself.

He dropped his shoulders a bit, displaying the strength of his arms and the depth of his chest and it took him a moment to realize he was showing off for her; preening like a wookie in front of its mate, but he turned and made eye contact with one of the waiters. The waiters in a place this exclusive had to pay attention and this one was no exception; he was already at Stone's elbow, nodding his head deferentially as Stone seated himself next to the woman.

"Sir?"

Stone turned toward the woman, gesturing lightly with his hand, one eyebrow raised in question. She smiled, ordered a Maybe This Evening and moved slightly closer to him. Under the table, he could feel her foot lightly stroking his shin with her ankle. After the first moment of shock, Stone had to admit to himself that he liked it.

"You've shaved your head," she smiled knowingly and Stone wondered what she was talking about. "I like it," she continued in a whisper moving closer, "it's sexier; shows off those lovely bedroom eyes of yours."

_Kriff_, any closer and she'd be in his lap, possibly hindering him in his duties.

She dropped her hand to one of his thighs, giving a delighted sigh at the hardness of his muscles, sliding her hand closer to...

Oh, double-_kriff_. That would be definite obstacle in his duties though he had a thought that it might make him growl and beat his chest like a male wookie in his prime.

No, he was on business. He put his hand on hers and, mimicking what he'd once seen Prince Organa do, brought it up to his lips to kiss her fingertips. "I'm sorry, my dear duchess, this is neither the time nor place for such frivolities."

Her eyes brightened and there was a sharp inhale in her breath. "You're on the track of another Seppie spy," it was the tiniest whisper oddly juxtaposed with quiet excitement and Stone frowned.

MI-23 had explained his unwanted mission was the highest compartmental secrecy.

Her lips tightened and she was blinking back tears. "I won't say anything..." she glanced around, her eyes big and round." Just a kiss?"

Okeeeyy, maybe he didn't know what she was referring to but he hadn't been offered too many kisses before and, in fact, this was the first...

She didn't wait for him to finish his mental calculation before she pressed her lips - and Stone had to admit they were soft, warm, moist, delicious lips - against his.

There was a smile curling Stone's face as she stood, caressing his cheek with a painted fingertip. "I think you're a brave agent to tackle a Trandoshan bare-handed," then she turned and was gone. Stone raised an eyebrow quizzically. What _was_ she referring to? Then he shrugged. It must have been a case of mistaken identity - and with two million identical brothers it certainly was possible. Stone felt a hint of regret that she wasn't his contact. It was the best kiss he'd had in a decade.

The sultry-voiced singer bathed in the blue light from the pool had finished her song, bowed out and the band was playing now. Several couples moved to the dance floor. Unnoticed by all but Stone and the bartender, the singer had come into the room by a side door and moved to the bar. She was dressed in something that also looked as if it were held to her body by the Force; or perhaps micro-magnets or skin glue but certainly not anything as prosaic as buttons, snaps, zippers or gravity. A crystal jewel dangled from a slender gold chain, kissing her skin and occasionally peeping from the low neckline of her dress. There was a glass waiting for her, three quarters filled with a clear liquid. She took it and gracefully moved to his table - the only one occupied by a single person rather than a group or, more often, a couple.

"You sing beautifully," Stone stated nothing more than fact as his eyes scanned the crowd.

"Thank you," she replied graciously as she sipped her drink. "I actually studied to be an operatic contra-alto." She looked at him with eyes of deepest blue and Stone was quite sure he'd fallen in love.

How delightful, he thought, falling in love twice in ten minutes. His mind went into cold calculation at her next words.

"Have you ever been invited to a night at the opera?"

"I prefer symphony myself," Stone spoke the counter-code. "Particularly the arpeligion movement of E-eel's Fourth Water Symphony. Purple monkey dishwasher." He let the words hang in the air for a moment then improvised with a smile, "but if you're inviting, I think I could manage to enjoy anything."

Before she could answer, there was a loud crash and voices raised in anger - patrons, not the quiet wait staff - and a happy voice rang out.

"Messa sorry."

Stone's lips tightened as he recognized the voice. He didn't dislike the Gungan representative but he was on-duty, working an assignment like patrolling the Senate or escorting a diplomatic entourage.

"Da fog was thick and dense," intoned Jar Jar to Stone's ear in a whisper no one could fail to notice.

"Like your brain, Representative," replied Stone, covering his eyes with his hand and rubbing the spot between his eyebrows. Was there_ anyone _who did _not_ know about this assignment?

"No, no, messa use code, confuse and confound enemy. So no one understands."

"That's a given most days, Jar Jar," Stone sighed.

She glanced up. "You know him?" she asked Stone in an amused voice.

"Not socially," Stone sighed. "His name is Jar Jar. He embarrasses people."

"Binks," the umber-colored Gungan in the sharp, elegant tuxedo replied, rolling his lips back showing his teeth in a grin. "Jar Jar Binks."

Stone had wanted his clothing in the distinguished dark rust-red of the Coruscant Guards but the head of MI-23 who went by the unlikely moniker of Mem, had told Stone that black was the only color for this type of clothing. If it made Representative Binks reasonably dignified then perhaps MI-23 wasn't as ignorant as he'd originally thought.

Her eyes looked worried as Jar Jar sat between them. She gave her head a small shake. "They didn't mention two agents."

"I'll vouch for him," Stone tried to censor the words coming from his lips. Perhaps Jar Jar would prove as useful here as he had on Florrum though if the Representative were injured in any way Stone could foresee a long, solitary assignment far from the bright center of the galaxy.

The singer nodded, accepting Stone's words. "They're going to kill me."

"Who?" demanded Stone in a hard voice.

"Thasa wrong," explained Jar Jar to no one who was listening.

Her shoulders came up in a shrug. "His lot. Your lot," she looked into his eyes; hers seemed soft and vulnerable. "Whoever gets to me first." Her eyelashes fluttered and Stone felt his heart flutter as well. "I'm innocent," she asserted then a small smile curled the corner of her lips and she tilted her face to Stone. "Within reason."

She put one hand on the table - awfully close to Stone's and he was amazed at the comparison between her slim, elegant fingers and his own square-tipped, blunt fingers.

"I'm small-time," she began, "to supplement my singing here. I specialize in being invited places. Sometimes I simply case the house to come back later, other times I might take just a few small items. Nothing too valuable." She glanced at them, nibbling her lower lip and Stone had the oddest impression she was _amused_. "My mother takes in laundry, my brother is mostly dead, his wife is crippled. His children are on the brink of starvation." She sniffed and swallowed back her tears, determined to continue. "My pet muut is pregnant and... well, you don't want to hear all my troubles." She covered her lips with those slim, elegant fingers but tears shone in her eyes.

"Aw." Jar Jar's ears drooped and he leaned forward to touch the singer on the hand she had on the table. "Thasa so sad." Then Jar Jar perked up and gestured to Stone and himself. "S'ok, we take care of you."

"You haven't said what you saw or took that could get you killed." Stone pointed out.

She glanced around and put her hand on his arm leaning to whisper in his ear. "We can't talk here." Stone almost missed her words as the warm air she exhaled in his ear almost made him forget his mission.

Mission? What mission? Stone blinked his eyes and brought his mission to mind. Meet some double-agent contact of the Separatists and collect some important plans.

Then he felt the rounded barrel of a small blaster in his ribs. Stiffly he rose and gestured Representative Binks to go first, making sure to keep his body between that blaster and the Representative; making sure the Representative didn't even see or suspect she was armed.

Easily he could have taken the blaster from her and Stone was reasonably sure he could do so with no damage to Binks, himself or her. However, she seemed to be leading them someplace to get the plans and that was the assignment.

They went through several doors and corridors, up an ascender into the suite area of the luxury resort.

"In there," she commanded, "the door code is 1701."

Representative Binks opened the door, followed by Stone and the woman with the blaster. It was a large suite befitting the luxury Royale. There was a bedroom back there, a reasonably small enclosed area for the kitchen droid to one side and a centrally located meeting room with a marble table, wooden chairs and leather sofa.

As she turned, her hand came up slightly, holding the small but deadly blaster away from Stone's ribs but now covering them both. "My apologies, gentlemen. I wasn't sure you'd accept a formal invitation."

Representative Binks bounded over to the balcony. "Desa pool," he pointed down and Stone was glad his attention was taken by something outside.

"There's always something formal about the point of a pistol," he murmured softly for her ears only. He could take her, but Stone couldn't be sure Representative Binks wouldn't end up a casualty. He'd need to wait for a better moment. She was nervous and her hand shook slightly. "May I sit?" Stone gestured softly to a chair. He'd seem less intimidating seated and be slightly further away from Representative...

"Yessa, we sit and talk." Jar Jar moved back into the room between Stone and the blaster. Stone's gut jerked, seeing that lone, long assignment to nowhere start to materialize but she lowered the hand holding the weapon and nodded.

"It was a country house; a few nobility, minor politicians and more nouveau riche. A good place for me to..." she nibbled at her lower lip. Stone would have preferred he nibble it for her.

"It was just a small jewel; pretty and perfect." She frowned and her chin trembled delicately. "Men leave but jewels are forever. How was I to know it was a miniature holochron? How was I to know he'd hidden the plans for galactic domination in a small crystal?"

Wrapping her fingers around the crystal necklace, she quickly pulled the chain over her head and dangled it for a moment. Stone reached his hand, palm up, under the crystal and she dropped it to his waiting fingers.

"I want to be safe from him," she said softly, her eyes filled with tears. "Please, it's all I want." Again she nibbled her lower lip and spoke again. "And a pardon. And maybe just a small apartment?" She smiled softly and tilted her face to bring it close to Stone cheek.

"I'm sorry, I can't promise you anything like that." Stone was nothing if not honestly direct.

She straightened, sighed mournfully then turned, "They're yours, Dr. Vindi," she said, her voice no longer quite as sultry as it was sad, and the bedroom door opened.

"Yousa wicked spy," exclaimed Jar Jar to her as he jumped to his feet. Just as quickly, Stone was on his feet and between the representative and the array of firepower peering from the doorway.

"Sit down," commanded a battledroid and Stone had no option other than to tug Jar Jar into a chair behind Stone and sit.

"I'm sorry," she said and Stone got the feeling there was some regret buried deep... real deep... in the crystal stone she had in place of a heart. She kissed him softly on his temple. "Fifty-eight," she murmured as her finger touched the tattoo on his left temple. "Will you tell me what it's for?"

"Part of my name," Stone hummed as her lips drifted to his ear. She may have been wicked, but she was delightfully wicked. "I got assigned my command before they could finish the tattoo and I had to rush to battle. Been too busy since then to fill it the rest."

"What is the rest?"

"Sixty-nine."

She blinked and her lips turned into a wry grin. She leaned back and looked him in the eyes then bent and kissed his lips as her fingers caressed behind his ears. "Don't finish it," she requested, "let me be the only woman who knows that." Her fingers continued caressing his face then dropped as she moved away from him, closer to the door.

From behind the battledroids and the human bodyguard emerged a lean, blue Faust.

Stone stared at Dr. Vindi; infamous virologist who had tried to re-animate the Blue Shadow virus. An insanely lethal criminal to add to Dooku's coterie of evil.

Beside him the human; large and muscular, was rubbing his fisted knuckles in anticipation. He grinned, showing terrible dentistry. Definitely from a long line of villains - their health plans never included dental. Three other figures proved to be B1 battledroids, armed of course.

"Mr. Vindi," began Jar Jar angrily but the Faustian villain interrupted him with a sharply gestured finger.

"That's _Doctor_ Vindi to you," he giggled in his madness. "My parents didn't send me to medical school to be called 'mister'."

"Youssa mad, sir."

Stone flinched. No mad scientists liked to hear that. Especially when it was so evidently true.

"No, nononono, no," laughed Vindi, "Mad? Mad? I am not ewen wery angry."

Stone relaxed into nonchalance as he dusted a non-existence speck from his cuff with the back of his fingers.

"Give up, Dr. Vindi. I've already contacted MI-23 and even as we speak they've surrounded the building."

Vindi laughed. "I don't beweeve you."

"Would you believe a squadron of police droids?

"Unlikely," retorted the insane, cerulean scientist.

Stone sighed. "Would you believe an angry waiter I owe for a Maybe This Evening?"

Dr. Vindi opened his mouth to scoff then turned to the human bodyguard, whispering loudly. "Leave some cwedits for the waiter." He glared at Stone. "I bussed tables my first year of grad school." He raised a finger. "It's hard work, let me tell you, and no one wants to tip well." He giggled again, "nonononono... no. When I rule the galaxy, patrons will tip wery well. Or they'll be dead."

"Yousa, sir, should use your evil genius for niceness," admonished Jar Jar, still standing at the table.

The bodyguard opened the datapad and programmed a tip for the waiter. As he did so, the blaster in his hand was tucked under his arm and no longer pointed at them.

As he looked into the face of the datapad, his attention diverted for a bare moment, Jar Jar jumped - one of those long leaps that Gungans were capable of - and knocked into the bodyguard, scrabbling as the man dropped the blaster.

The singer gasped. "He's so impetuous."

"Yes," replied Stone, "he's an idiot."

Quickly he pressed his lips to hers in a hurried kiss - the first he'd ever given. "If you leave now, you might survive," he whispered even as he wanted her to stay and continue kissing him. "He has us and that will keep him..."

She was already gone, slipping away from Stone's lips, his hands no longer resting on her hip, and out the door as Jar Jar struggled with the human, and the battle droids pulling him up by his arms. The bodyguard angrily glared as he stood then turned to Dr. Vindi. "Can I kill him now, boss?"

"No, nononononononono." One of Dr. Vindi's hands waved in negation then abruptly stopped. "Not yet. My friends have him, you take the other one."

The man jerked Stone's jacket half-way down his back, twisting it to ensnare his arms. "Careful," Stone said, "It's only on loan." Then he stepped back, making sure to break the man's toes, slamming the back of his head into the man's face. He relaxed his arms; it gave him just enough room to jerk them out of the sleeves as the man's grip loosened and Stone twisted into a roundhouse kick against the big man's head.

The comm unit in the shoe let out a protesting beep then a busy tone as the transmission slipped into some automatic mode. "Press 1 for Basic," intoned Stone's shoe and the Seppie muscle man glanced at the noise.

"It's for you," said Stone even as a snap kick took the villain in the face. The Seppie spy dropped.

"Get Vindi," Stone ordered Jar Jar as he tackled the three droids now in front of the balcony.

"Oops," said Vindi as he turned to run.

Stone knew that Bames Jond would have had some fancy trick but he was a clone and a direct, frontal attack would take them all out. He could depend on Jar Jar to wrestle Vindi.

And, if he calculated correctly, he'd even survive this.

Stone fell, easily a thirty-meter drop, from the balcony as his mass (all muscle) and velocity (clone-quick) took all three droids over the edge. The droids screamed in their monotone voices, metallic arms flailing, their job of killing Stone forgotten. Stone avoided the flailing limbs, put his foot on one droid's chest as they fell and pushed.

It wouldn't gain him much distance since they were both airborne, but he only need a foot or two of leeway; only the distance his arms could reach to make sure he hit the pool instead of stones.

He slammed into the pool like the face of a hammer with sufficient momentum that he also slammed into the pool's glass bottom, cracking it as well as something in his shoulder. He grunted in pain and a bubble of air left his lips. Almost stunned, he pushed off the bottom headed for the surface.

Stone took a deep gulp of air, swam the short distance to the edge where he pulled himself out of the water with only a slight wince at the pain in his shoulder.

The tuxedo jacket was gone along with the lighter, and the white shirt was sufficiently ripped to make no different so Stone pulled the remaining shreds of it off his shoulders. The slacks were still on; water-soaked and clinging tightly to the muscles of his legs. The chronograph was still working - but perhaps only the chronograph portion of it. At least the _kriffin' _comm unit in the shoe was gone with the shoes somewhere between here and the balcony.

"I need to get into some dry clothes," he told the woman who had pushed up the brim of her sunhat as she lounged by the pool he'd fallen into. She passed him her towel, the tips of her fingers stroking his hand as he took it.

"Oh, please don't; not my account," she said in a deliciously sweet voice and a slow grin stole over Stone's features.

Maybe he should watch a Bames Jond adventure holovid - just once - to determine if all spies fell in love three times a day.

* * *

Dedicated to spy stories... from Smiley's People to Get Smart and, of course, Bames Jond. Along with a few other things thrown in.


	2. Only in it for the Money

_A Spy Story_

* * *

"_Only In It For the Money"_

_(by: LongLivetheClones_

* * *

His relationship with the Republic was tenuous at best. The only reason he'd agreed to take this mission was the credits.

When they'd told him he couldn't wear his trademark Mando armor, he'd balked. He'd almost turned the mission down right there. They'd had to double the credits just to get him back into the conference room.

They wouldn't even allow him his jetpack. They said flying around Coruscant with a jetpack didn't match with the whole secret agent _image_. He'd required a special "bonus fee upon completion" to agree to let the jetpack go.

Fek. He was only in it for the money.

That was all he cared about. That was _all_ he had ever cared about. Well, _that_ and himself. They'd tried to get him to take one of the commandos along as a back-up, but he set his foot down. He worked solo.

Besides, having someone along who looked exactly like him wouldn't exactly be subtle either.

Republic _Intelligence_.

He snorted.

There was an oxymoron if he ever heard one.

* * *

And, then he saw _her_. And all thoughts fled his mind.

He was supposed to meet his contact on this busy intersection in Coruscant. He'd been wondering what scatter-brained yi'kut had come up with this shabla plan. How was he supposed to recognize his contact amongst all the hordes teaming down this busy concourse?

But, when the leather clad beauty suddenly appeared in his field of vision, he forgot all about meeting his contact. He could only think about driving his decee into her-

"Fine night for a moonlit walk along the promenade, isn't it?" the sinfully beautifully female murmured casually as she strolled by.

Jango stared and his heart stopped. He was so stunned that he almost forgot to murmur the code phrase in return. "I prefer hard fast speeder drives in an MGT-1000."

"This way," the vision in nerf skin said, abruptly grabbing his elbow and tugging him along.

"Where are we going?" he leaned down and hissed into her ear. He immediately regretted the action. She smelled incredible, and his body reacted to her scent with all manner of inappropriate thoughts. He knew himself.

_Think of the credits. Not of little Jango. Little Jango always gets you into trouble._

He was momentarily distracted by his deep thinking and was taken by surprise when the woman yanked him into a nearby alley. The place reeked of cheap Tihaar and tabak root.

"What do I call you?" Jango asked. She hadn't answered his first question.

"Too many questions," she said sharply.

"Then start talking," he demanded.

She pushed him against the hard duracrete wall of the alley, surprising him with her strength. She pinned him there for a moment and he found it hard to breathe. But, then again, he didn't really want to move. There were so many other _interesting _positions they could get into. He glanced back and forth gauging their level of privacy.

_Nope. Nobody around. How quickly could he get her out of all that leather?_

One nice thing about being out of armor is that he could unsheathe little Jango by just-

"Calm yourself," she smacked him hard in the face, and the back of his head reverberated hard against the back of the duracrete. His vision swam for a moment. "I'm 1/8th Zeltron, you idiot. I can smell your hormones from here."

Her admission that she was part Zeltron, even if it was just a fraction, did nothing to calm him. He found himself scanning her features and trying to imagine which parts of her might be Zeltronian. Her face looked entirely human. So, that must mean her Zeltron parts were-

She smacked him again and this time he heard the sound of his head hitting the alley wall.

_Fek. Now, he missed his helmet._

"We _don't_ have time for this," she growled angrily, and then glared derogatorily down at his manparts, "although I'm sure with you it would be very quick."

His vision was swimming double now from the second hit to his head, so it took a moment for him to realize that she'd just insulted little Jango. "My genome is amongst the finest in the galaxy," he hissed.

She stared at him for a long assessing moment as if trying to decide if he was lying.

Sensing he'd made a bit of headway with her, he pressed on, "According to Republic scientists, I'm as genetically perfect as a male can be."

She quirked an eyebrow at him disbelieving, but he could tell at least somewhat intrigued.

"It's why _I_ was chosen for this mission," he said in a deep baritone that he knew worked particularly well with females of _any_ species.

Her eyes flared with annoyance.

Huh.

Not exactly the reaction he'd been going for.

"Fine," she allowed, and to his great disappointment, released him from the wall. "But, I still think you are an absolute idiot." She blew out a long sigh. "Speeder is this way." She walked with long stalking strides so fast that he had to increase his pace to keep up. "And, you can call me T."

"T?" he questioned, "what does that stand for?"

"I am told it stands for Trouble," she tossed back over her shoulder without turning around, "it seems to follow me wherever I go."

* * *

Her words proved prophetic. It seemed they had barely entered the speeder before signs of pursuit began. Suddenly, they were zigzagging in and out of the insanely crowded hyperlanes of Corrie toward their target location. They were under a tight deadline to get to the Separatist gathering and "acquire" the top secret datachip by any means necessary.

However, first they had to shake of all of these other speeders that seemed determined to turn them into a flaming fireball. Shots were hitting them from all sides. Many of the shots veered off and went wild, hitting the other speeders around them, causing general panic and mayhem in the busy skylanes above Coruscant.

"Innocent civilians are going to get killed," Jango pointed out as he stared around at the mayhem. And, then he clapped his hands over his mouth. Since when did he care about innocent fekkin' civilians? That was such a Republic thing to say! It was like one of the mantras they drilled into the clones day in and day out. Ugggh. After five years of doing commando training, had some of that drivel started imprinting back on him?! He couldn't help the long shudder that wracked his frame at the thought.

_No! I am not a nice guy. I am Jango Fett! Bounty hunter!_

"It happens," she said, tonelessly, driving the speeder into a series of nauseating somersaulting twists that he had no idea speeders were even capable of doing. She glanced over at him, and actually smiled. "But, it is sweet that you actually care."

He opened his mouth to object that he most certainly did _not_ care.

But, he had to close it again to avoid a bout of nausea as she spun the speeder again.

The next time he opened his mouth was to shout at her because they were about to plummet into a mega story glass hi-rise. "Watch!"

T sent the speeder into another nauseating series of spins, and this time Jango had to close his eyes and count to twenty in Mando'a. He hadn't realized he was counting outloud until he looked over and saw T smiling at him. The first genuine sign of warmth he'd seen crack her facade since they'd met.

Behind them, he suddenly heard a series of loud explosions and he hoped it was the craft pursuing them and not a whole bunch of innocent civilians.

He was sure his bonus would be compromised if he'd just gotten a bunch of civvies vaped.

So, maybe he did care.

A little.

* * *

As it turned out, they made an amazing team. Between the skills he'd acquired as a bounty hunter, and T's natural charm and drop dead beauty, they'd seamlessly blended in with the crowd at the posh Separatist gathering. From there, they'd split up and begun searching rooms. There were a couple of tense moments where it looked like T was going to get caught and Jango ended up discretely taking out a number of the bodyguards. He couldn't miss the look of _gratitude_ in her eyes when he'd saved her skin.

And, then, after he'd stashed the bodies down a waste chute, they'd split up again to continue searching. Although, somebody must have noticed their disappearance, because she ended up saving _his_ skin before the end of the night. He did literally lose a bit of skin when he ended up getting up in a fistfight with a bodyguard the size of a small Rancor. He was sure he could have taken him down, _eventually_. It was at the moment that he really missed all of the built-in weaponry from his armor. The Republic had told him there was similar stuff built into the clothing they'd given him.

But, truth be told, he hadn't really been paying attention during the briefing. He'd been thinking about credits and how he needed to negotiate for more for the mission. OK, in that moment, it did occur to him that in the future he should pay more attention during such briefings because sometimes they _did _contain useful intel. T's timely intervention just as the Rancor-like bodyguard was spinning him around above his head was most welcome. From that point on, they stayed together as a team, and shortly afterwards, they'd found the micro-chip in the uppermost level of the high-rise. It was surprising easy to slip unnoticed out of the building. Well, that is, after they set the place on fire and started a mass panic...

* * *

"What is _your_ name anyway?" T's voice was laced with open curiosity now, and something more, as she gazed back at him from their designated safehouse.

They had six hours before he was supposed to be back up and taken back to Kamino with the microchip.

"Fett. Jango Fett," he drew his name out slowly. He wondered then if he should be using some sort of code name, but there'd been nothing in the briefing about _his_ using a code name. Oh wait. He hadn't really been paying attention during the briefing. Ah, well-

His thoughts were interrupted when T pressed her body up against his. "Well, Jango. We have a few hours to kill. Any ideas of what we could do?"

He couldn't get her out of the leather fast enough.

* * *

It was the best 5 hours and 59 minutes of his life. He barely had a chance to throw his clothes on and grab the chip before he heard the sound of a LAAT descending upon the roof and clone footsteps pounding toward the door.

He turned around to say good bye.

But, in that one minute, she had disappeared.

* * *

He never saw T again.

* * *

She never told him about the child that emerged from those five hours and 59 minutes of passion. She eventually headed off to Coruscant to start a new life for herself.

He made it very clear that he worked _solo_.

And, that was as good a name as any for a child.


	3. At the Casino Royale

_A Spy Story_

* * *

At the Casino Royale

(_by Queen_)

* * *

"Oh, by all the _solar systems_!" Bunny gasped in delight. She did that frequently, but this time, the words came out in such a particularly gleeful tone that Kitty decided to turn around. The other waitress did have good taste, after all, and if she was stuck strutting the floor in heels, net stockings, and an entirely too short and frilly skirt, she had a right to ogle some of the men right back. They usually enjoyed it. It also led to the _Royale's_ bouncers having something to do later in the night. They got a little fidgety if they didn't bust a head or two by the end of the evening, poor things, and beating overly moneyed drunks off the girls was something they found particularly enjoyable. Such a bunch of sweethearts.

Bunny wasn't overreacting, either. The _Royale_ catered to high rollers, fat cats with money to burn in their pockets, and despite being swathed in some of the finest silks and perfumes the galaxy had to offer, a sorry few were truly worth giving a good look over.

This one was different. Poised at the top of the stairs leading onto the _Royale's_ gaming floor, stood a man. A tall man. A broad shouldered man. A buff man, in an extremely well fitted black tuxedo. A man who was surveying the sabacc tables below him with a look that almost could be mistaken for boredom. It wasn't. The arch sweep of his gaze was, in actuality, assessing the entire room with a single glance. One look encompassed the droid dealers tossing cards onto tables, the high rollers and the card sharps, the arm candy, the wait staff, the security, the cashiers in their cages and the band of Bith playing jazz on the stage at the opposite end of the floor.

Kitty lifted an eyebrow. Interesting.

He made a small adjustment to the cuff of his sleeve, then descended onto the game room floor. Kitty found herself abruptly glommed onto by an enthusiastic Bunny, who was bouncing in place, blonde pigtails flopping around. "My table, my table, my table," she was chanting as Mr. Buff Shoulders moved past the pazaak tables and towards the sabacc ones.

"Bun, my arm. I need it." Kitty deadpanned as Bunny bounced up and down, tiptoeing to get a better view of Mr. Buff Shoulders.

"My table, my table, go to my table…." She drew out hopefully, then deflated, scrunching her lips up into a pout. "Your table. He's getting a chair at table Doubleohsev's, Kits. Wouldn't wanna trade, would you?"

Kitty laughed and pried Bunny's arm off her, scooping up her datapad and tray from the ornate bar behind them. "I think I'd better take this one, Bun. Maybe next time."

Bunny's lower lip trembled for a moment, then she sighed, waving a hand. "Ah, well, I had the last set of muscles. Have fun, Kits!"

Bunny had no idea.

Kitty wove her way through the crowded floor, swaying her hips and winking periodically at customers that caught her eye, even blowing a kiss at one of the rollers who'd given her an extra nice tip last night. He blushed red and pretended to swoon, and she gave him a laugh and a wave as she worked her way through the tables to Doubleohsev's. The droid ran high stakes sabacc, and was usually surrounded by players in posh clothing and jewels.

She'd checked the table less than five minutes ago, topping off the other three with drinks. Only Mr. Buff Shoulders would be without, providing an easy opportunity to gauge him. She popped up to the side of the round table as Doubleohsev gave the deck an elaborate, four handed shuffle. "Hiya, gentlemen," she bubbled, hugging the tray and datapad cutely to her chest. "Can I get anything for any of you?" The other players, a pair of Rodians and a Bothan, merely waved her off or shrugged at her, already absorbed in their cards, so Kitty turned the full force of her sparkling smile onto Mr. Buff Shoulders. "You sir? Mister…?"

He gave her a narrow look, and her smile broadened. "Windu," he said, his voice a deep bass that made her giggle. The guy sounded as serious as he looked. "Mace Windu."

Well, it seemed Intel was taking her information seriously, for once. Delightful. A big time Jedi was her contact. She felt like rolling her eyes but winked at him instead, pretending to flirt. He merely raised an eyebrow. Wonderful. They send her someone high on the food chain to get the data, but with the acting skills of a bantha. She beamed at him, wondering if he could crack a smile. "Mr. Windu," she enthused. "A drink?"

One more passcode and she'd palm him the data file. These things needed to go by the book, at least.

"Yeah," he said, picking up the sabacc hand Doubleohsev dealt him, "Martini. Shaken, not stirred."

The right time, the right place, the right table, the right name order, the right drink done in the right way. He was indeed her contact. "Of course, Mr. Windu. Coming right up." She tossed another wink at him while flouncing back to the bar and keying the order in via her datapad.

Kitty cast a glance back over to Mr. Windu upon returning to the bar. The four armed dealer droid was conducting the game and one of the Rodians was placing his bet, tossing chips onto the table. The others followed suit a moment later, with Windu looking grumpy about the entire charade. Kitty sighed. Never send a Jedi to do a spy's job. Apparently it made them cranky.

"Kits! Order's up!" Triple-eight called from behind the bar, a delicate martini glass extended in a pair of metal pincers. Kitty twirled towards the droid and plucked up the drink with her left hand, setting it onto her tray. She made a smooth, almost absent-minded brush at her skirt, as though it had gotten a bit rumpled and needed straightening before she headed out onto the floor again. There was one good thing about all the frills and lace involved in the skirt: Plenty of hiding spaces. It took only a moment to snap the pair of threads holding the datacard in place and palm it. Hefting the martini on its tray into the air, she gave a toss of her head, planted the card under one gloved hand situated on her hip, and sauntered back into the crowd.

Windu was placing his bet as she arrived, leaning in close to him to set her tray onto the table between players. Kitty tilted herself so that her back was to the Rodian beside Windu, and trailed her fingers along the side of Windu's ribs. He didn't flinch or startle at the touch, but he did give her a rather skeptical look as she slid the datacard down his leg, pressing it lightly against the fabric of his tuxedo.

She smiled, tapping the datacard against his thigh once. "I've got what you asked for, Mr. Windu." A hand covered hers, and then the datacard was gone, Windu barely moving in the process. She leaned in a little closer to his ear and added, breathily, "Shaken, not stirred?"

He didn't even budge. She resisted a laugh. Apparently it took a great deal to get Mr. Mace Windu stirred, and a little bit of flirting in a too-short cocktail dress wasn't going to cut it. Such a serious man. A pity. Work was always so much more fun when the boys played back. Ah well, the transfer was done, and the rest was up to him. "Let me know if you need anything else," she added, easing up a bit, but not without a parting wink.

"Thank you, that will be all, Miss…?"

"Galore," she said, moving the martini to the table from her tray and picking it up. "Kitty Galore."

"Miss Galore," he acknowledged, picking up the drink and taking a sip. "Your efforts are," he paused, tilting his head and drawing out the word, "appreciated."

Kitty let herself laugh at that. It was nice to be thanked once in a while. Espionage was usually such ungrateful, tense work. She gave the man a more genuine smile of gratitude, turned on a heel, and found herself walking straight into a wall. The wall, though, had hands, which came down hard on her shoulders and tossed her aside. Stumbling, she righted herself before she tripped into any customers. The wall, it seemed, was one particularly large chested Trandoshan, who was accompanied by an only marginally smaller Weequay.

The Trandoshan hissed, "You will come with us," at Windu, while the Weequay held a blaster at his hip. Kitty frowned, drawing back into the gaping crowd as though shocked and afraid of their sudden appearance. The Trandoshan and the Weequay weren't casino security. A quick glance around showed that casino security was suspiciously absent from their usual posts. Those sweet security boys didn't just go missing. Not at the _Royale_. Poor things.

The crowd was gathering around Doubleohsev's table, keeping their distance but gaping at the spectacle as the customers wondered what was going on. Deeper in the crowd, though, were stirrings and yelps of surprise coming from both the front and rear entrances. They were being surrounded. Or rather, Windu was being surrounded. The fact the Trandoshan just tossed her aside indicated their approaching friends didn't know Windu had backup. Well, her job here was done anyway. Blowing cover wouldn't be so bad. At least she'd be able to get out of the kriffing heels. She kicked them off, slid a hand under the hem of her skirt, and fished for the garter belt riding high on her thigh, where a compact BlasTech was waiting for her.

"And if I say no?" Windu replied to the Trandoshan wall while leaning casually against the sabacc table and taking a minute sip of his martini.

The Weequay chortled. "Then we shoot you dead, and maybe some other people too, eh?" He turned, further revealing his blaster by lifting it to shoulder height and taking aim at Kitty. "Maybe pop off a few pretty waitresses?"

Kitty froze, wide eyed and shaking, and he sneered at her for a moment before returning his attention to Windu. Idiot.

Two seconds later, her compact blaster was out and firing at the ceiling.

The casino floor promptly erupted into chaos.

It was also in that moment that Windu moved. He went from reclining against the table with martini glass in hand, to throwing the liquor into the Trandoshan's face. Trandoshans didn't sound pretty when they screamed. They also didn't sound pretty when they went flying twenty meters across the floor from a single punch to the chest. They sounded especially not pretty when they landed in the middle of a pazaak table and broke it in half. The Weequay barely even had time to recognize his partner was gone before Windu was on him. The Jedi grabbed the Weequay's wrist and twisted, forcing him to drop his blaster pistol, then delivered a kick to his stomach that sent him flying over to join his Trandoshan friend at the pazaak tables.

Kitty stepped forward, scooped up the dropped blaster pistol and gave its' power cell a quick check. Full charge. Excellent. She glanced at Windu, taking a moment to find an escape route amid the screaming floor full of people, apparently completely unperturbed by the fact he just beat the snot out of two rather bulky thugs and was about to have several more descend on them.

Hm. Didn't get shaken easily, either. Always a good attribute in a man. Kitty smiled. "Mr. Windu?"

He eased a bit, glancing at her. He seemed unsurprised, save for the slightest arch of a brow, to see her there. "Miss Galore?"

"Would you agree a strategic retreat is in order?"

The first incoming shots rang out, and in a blur of movement accompanied by the hiss of a weapon releasing, Windu moved. An arc of purple light wheeled around him, and the red blaster bolts were quickly returned towards the groups of men rushing in their direction from the two entrances. Their own fire redirected towards them, they scattered, diving for cover behind the nearest sabacc tables.

Windu was frozen in place, his lightsaber extended behind him but ready for movement as he checked the locations of the hostiles. He looked over his shoulder, and his face reflected the blade's violet light. "I believe I can agree with that, Miss Galore. Lead on."

She'd never worked with a Jedi before. Not directly, at least. This could be an interesting escape.

Kitty smiled.

* * *

"Kitty Galore" is of course a reference to the rather infamously named Pussy Galore of _Goldfinger_ fame. Casino Royale is another Bond movie, and was the first Bond novel Ian Fleming wrote.


	4. A Man for All Seasons

_A Spy Story_

* * *

_A Man for All Seasons _

(by: Amaryllis Complex)

**Rila:** So this clocks in at around...2,332 words? I think, anyway. TT_TT Sorry it went over! It's just a little bit, and I probably could have cut some of that *waves at top of chapter*, but...Enjoy? :) This whole thing gets more explanation in _Helix,_ so if it seems choppy/rushed, I'm very, very sorry. Loose points/threads are tied up in _Helix._ I hope it's okay that Ophion did the whole, "Last name. First name Last Name" trope, because Echo doesn't have a last name. *runs and hides*

Disclaimer: _James Bond-esque clones? :) Yes please. _

Word Count: 2,332

* * *

Parties had never been her forte.

"You'll be fine," soothed A as she reached forward and scraped copper-colored hair away from Ophion's face, twisting it up and pinning it with a silver clip shaped like some sort of flower. Wire stamen were crusted with matching glitter, the stuff flaking off and sticking to A's fingers as she lowered them and placed them on Ophion's shoulders. Giving her a reassuring squeeze, there was the cool press of A's face against hers. "It'd help if you smiled," she added as she stared into the mirror with her. Another squeeze. "Come on, smile."

Slowly the edges of Ophion's lips curved upward, though it was a pinched, pained sort of smile that had A sighing and shaking her head, a toss of blonde hair across her shoulder as she moved away from the mirror. "Come on, I've got to finish up your make-up."

"I don't see why I have to be the one to do this," Ophion began as she rose from the high-backed chair and followed her companion to the table, "you're more suited for these sorts of things than I am. I like stealth, thank-you very much."

"This is stealth," answered A, and when Ophion simply stared, she offered a off-handed shrug and a careless, "Sort of."

Sinking down into another chair with a sigh, Ophion allowed A to resume applying make-up to her face. The powder was chalky and dry as it was dusted across her cheeks, adding color to them. Lipstick was next, a waxy application of a color that matched the color of her hair.

"As long as your contact shows up," A told her as she helped Ophion into the shimmering silver dress, "you'll be fine. Just keep your eyes open, and make sure that nothing feels out of place."

"Except for me," Ophion could not help but grumble. Usually she was not so outspoken about her dislike for whatever mission she was saddled with, but this one dug under her skin and made it hard to control her irritation. It was not for the mission itself - it was for the way it had been presented to her.

Arachne, as the leader of their little ring, had power that Ophion could not argue with, and though he was usually seated in that plush chair of his and smoking away at a pipe, he exuded a sort of authority that demanded respect. And Ophion respected him, though the fact that he treated her as though she were some sort of bumbling child did not help matters. Though she knew she was young, Ophion was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and executing her missions with near-flawless accuracy. A had faith in her abilities and treated her as such - it was everyone else, Arachne included, who did not.

They used her age against her, an excuse to throw the left-overs at her. This one, however, was not a left-over. It was one of utmost importance. And, Ophion could not help but think almost bitterly, one that would have been handed over to A had the blonde not had her own mission to deal with. And so it fell to Ophion.

"You'll be fine," A spoke, dragging the redhead out of her thoughts and back to the present as cool hands squeezed her shoulders once more. "Just do as you usually do."

"I wish you could come with me," the young woman told her, and A stared for a moment before her expression softened into something warmer, a glimpse of a softer side that she rarely displayed.

"Sorry kid," A answered, reaching up to tuck back a rogue strand of red hair from her face, "you're on your own for this one until you find the contact. Do you know who you're looking for?"

"Yes," Ophion answered, her mindset already slipping into 'mission mode'. Stepping away from A to slide her feet into the silver sandals and grabbing a similarly colored clutch, she tucked it under her arm and turned back towards the woman she had come to think of as her mentor and sister. "Wish me luck."

"We don't need luck," returned A, and Ophion could not help but smile.

"You're right. We make our own."

* * *

The party was just as she had imagined it - bright, dizzying lights and a general wave of murmured conversations, waiters and waitresses swirling amongst the mingling masses. All sharply dressed, women with delicately made-up faces and men with crisp suits. All of it screamed money, and all of it made Ophion want to be sick.

Leaning against a trelis, Ophion's gaze swept over the crowds of socialites, searching for her target. To help blend in with the crowd and make herself feel more at ease, she had swiped a flute of champagne off one of the silver platters that the waiters held aloft. She had barely sipped from it, however. Though the taste was pleasant enough, she could not afford to let alcohol cloud her senses.

Offering a demure smile and a slight nod of her head as a passing couple caught her eye, she lifted her glass and then pressed the rim to her lips, tipping it just enough to feign drinking. It was the polite thing to do, she had come to learn, in situations like this. Pretend like you're having fun, pretend like you're one of them. If you don't, your job gets so much harder.

Not that her job was not already difficult - the silver clutch tucked beneath her arm held the reason why she was here in the first place, a small square that could fit snuggly in the palm of her hand. A datachip, but not just any datachip - it contained information that, if they were lucky, could help turn the war in the Republic's favor. It was why she was waiting here, searching for the contact that the Republic was supposed to be sending - she could not do this alone, as surely there would be people looking for the stolen datachip.

The only snag that the mission had hit so far was that her contact had not arrived. Ophion knew that it was her discomfort and pre-existing irritation that had her so restless, but she could not help but wonder if the Republic had sent a contact at all, or if that contact even knew where to meet her. She had not been given a name, just a general appearance to watch for.

"Care for another drink, miss?" The call had her head turning, eyes locking with the pleasant brown of a waiter. He was eyeing the barely touched drink in her hand, and for a moment, Ophion was tempted to say no, though she thought better of it.

"Thank-you," she murmured, adding in a playful bat of dark eyelashes that had the waiter's cheeks suffusing a soft red as she replaced her glass with a fresh one. It was as she was lifting it up to take a small sip that she caught it, the faintest flutter of movement from the double-doors that lead into the room. Turning, she watched as a man entered, alone and clad in a crisp suit not unlike the many that occupied the room already.

What caught her attention, however, was the stiff, almost awkward way that he walked, as though he were unused to setting such as these. Curiosity had her moving forward, abandoning her drink on a tray of another passing waiter as she wove her way through the mingling crowds. Muttering soft apologies and offering small smiles when she brushed against people, she stepped into the newly arrived man's pathway. He turned towards her, visibly startled. Ophion smiled.

Gotcha. No doubt this was the contact she was waiting for, the general description that she had been given matching the man who stood before her now. The crew-cut of dark hair and honey-brown eyes, as well as the distinct milital air around him. Offering her hand, Ophion's head tilted in a friendly way. "I think I'd like some fresh air," she told him, "care to join me?"

He blinked once, twice, and then nodded. "It would be a pleasure," he told her after a moment of hesitation, and she hummed her approval as she stepped to his side, hooking an arm around his as he turned and guided them both back towards the doors that he had just come from. The night air was cool against Ophion's skin as they exited the building, and she slipped her arm from his, adjusting her grip on the silver clutch.

"Name?" she inquired lightly, and he turned towards her.

"Echo," he answered, "and you are?"

"Diritae," she introduced herself, "Ophion Diritae." He stared at her, analyzing for a moment. Catching onto what he must've been thinking, she grinned. "No, it's not my real name. You might get to learn my real name, if you behave." She threw in a wink, laughing at his startled expression. "Lighten up," she said, jabbing him in the side. "It's not often that people in my line of work get fresh blood. You'll have to excuse that poor attempt at humor."

"Fresh blood, ma'am?" Echo followed her down the set of stone steps, hesitating when she perched herself on the bottom step. Patting the space beside her, Ophion waited to speak until he had joined her.

"Newbies. People who haven't done this before," she explained and then turned her attention to her clutch, fingers pushing past the white envelope that held the datachip in order to press a button on a comlink-esque device. "And now we wait for our ride."

Echo said nothing to that, and Ophion turned away, propping her chin in her hands. Feeling the weight of his gaze on the side of her face, Ophion turned and arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Echo told her hastily, "It's just..."

"Just...?" she prompted, and he seemed vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of continuing, though he did so anyway.

"You seem more relaxed than I thought you'd be," he told her, "The way that I was told about you, it made you sound more..."

"Aloof? Detached?" Echo dipped his head and Ophion shrugged. "Like I said, my job doesn't make room for a lot of humor, so we take it where we can get it. It helps ease nerves." She paused, contemplating on telling him that it was the alcohol - though it hadn't been much - that had her more relaxed than she had been earlier, then decided against it as a sleek black speeder pulled up. "And this is our ride."

Echo stood first, offering a hand to her. Ophion took it, mouth curving. "My, aren't you just the gentleman," she teased, and was rewarded by a faint twitch of his lips and a shake of his head as he followed her into the speeder. Fingers curled around the clutch, Ophion leaned back and closed her eyes, sinking against the plush fabric of the seat. The mission was almost over, and then she could go back to doing what she did best.

"Do you hear that?" Echo inquired abruptly, and Ophion opened her eyes and turned, forehead creasing as her head tilted. It took a moment before she heard what he was talking about, a soft beeping noise that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

"Get out," she told him, amusement gone from her tone. When he didn't seem to hear her, she shoved at his shoulder. "Get out!" That seemed to incite a reaction and she turned, throwing the door to the speeder open before throwing herself out.

Ophion hit the ground moments before the speeder exploded. Duracrete tore at exposed skin as she rolled, the outward explosion of heat from the speeder warming her and drying the sweat on her face. Body aching and ears ringing, Ophion could do little but stare at the column of dark smoke that billowed upward from the smoldering vehicle.

Her hearing began to return in time to hear sirens in the background, curious faces peering out at the spectacle. No one approached however, and the lack of companionship jump-started Ophion's mind once more.

"Echo?" Getting to her feet, Ophion staggered towards the speeder, the acrid stench of burning rubber reaching her nose as she turned, searching. "Echo?" She tempered her voice, training kicking in as she fought back the hysteria that threatened to creep in. "If you can hear me, say something!"

There was nothing in response, just the crackle and pop of melting plastic and burning upholstry. Stepping back, Ophion closed her eyes, struggling to ignore the burning that began at the corners of her eyes. She was not going to cry. People in her profession did not cry.

A strangled sob escaped anyway as she brought her hands up, pressing the scraped skin to her eyes. It stung, but she couldn't bring herself to care. This was her fault - if she had checked the speeder before they'd gotten into it, this wouldn't have happened.

All my fault, she thought. This is all my fault.

If there was anything Ophion hated more than her failure, it was how she was reacting to it - standing here, hands pressed to her face in an attempt to keep from breaking down. It felt as if she were nothing more than a child again.

It was pathetic.

"Ophion?" The redhead stiffened at the call of her name, hands frozen against her face before she lowered them and turned around, watery slate blue eyes locking with confused gold, set into a face that was steadily becoming more and more familiar.

Relief flooded through her, an irrational but happy relief, mouth twitching into a small smile as she approached him. He seemed to share her relief, though she caught a flicker of confusion as she came to a stop and leaned up, bruised hands pressing against his cheeks.

Echo's lips were warm against hers, and she could feel his surprise in the lack of response before she pulled away, mouth twitching. "Good to see that you're still amongst the living," she told him, "so I can do this."

Curling a hand into a fist, Ophion swung it forward and socked him on the upper arm. "Don't you ever do that to me again. Are we clear?"

Echo blinked and rubbed his arm. "Yes."

Ophion's mouth curved. "Good! Now, follow me."


	5. Ventress and her Studly Muffin

_A Spy Story_

* * *

Ventress and Her Studly Muffin

(_by: spikala_)

* * *

"The name's Muffin. Studly Muffin."

Ventress raised an eyebrow. "You _must_ be joking." Before her, stood the weediest specimen of humanity she'd ever seen. A stiff breeze would blow him over. A far cry from the hulking males of Dathomir, Muffin was tall, gangly, and had brown hair that stuck up in tufts. The only thing that hinted at his name was his deep tan.

He shrugged. "My parents were cruel people. Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

She turned back to the mysterious Intelligence man, Z, ignoring Muffin's outstretched hand. "Please tell me this isn't my partner for the mission."

Z shook his head. "Muffin is the best slicer we've got and a damn good pilot to boot. He's there to get you in, verify the datachip, and get you both out.

Ventress opened her mouth to protest again, but he cut her off brusquely. "This is non-negotiable. Muffin will brief you on the finer details." He slipped from the room, managing to stay in the shadows the whole time and leaving her none the wiser as to his identity.

Forty minutes later, Ventress's head was reeling with all the details and gadgetry that Muffin deemed necessary to the success of the mission. The simple datachip retrieval that Z had painted for her earlier when he'd recruited her was far from simple. Muffin had thought of everything from her cover ("You're standing in for an emissary from the Nightsisters, and no, they won't know you're a plant. We've arranged for the real one to have er, 'Customs' delays.") to how they were to infiltrate the gathering. He'd even thought of weaponry.

"No lightsabers."

Her grip tightened on the hilts. "That's not negotiable, Muffin."

"Please, call me Studly."

She eyed him and he sighed. "It was worth a shot. Anyway, Nightsisters don't have lightsabers. What I _do _have for you is this." He produced a miniscule blaster that looked more like a child's plaything than a weapon.

"A toy."

"No. It's the Noisy Cricket. If you're going for stopping power _and _concealment, you won't find better. Trust me, I know—I designed her." He looked very proud of that fact as he handed over the Cricket.

Ventress hefted it experimentally and wasn't impressed. Sure it could fit almost anywhere, but still... She aimed at the dilapidated desk in the shabby room and pulled the trigger.

Once the smoke had cleared and Ventress gotten back up, the briefing continued. Sans desk.

==o0o==

Her Studly Muffin was twitchy. It was getting annoying and was bound to give the game away.

Ventress wrapped up her conversation with their contact, Tre Lonsil, and headed back from the buffet table, plate in one hand and the precious datachip in the other. Muffin was standing beside an elegant crystal pillar, his hair slicked down and chewing on his thumbnail. The tuxedo had done marvels for hiding his gangly frame and he almost looked like he belonged amongst these pampered, soft, beings of privilege where tuxedos were de rigueur.

As she approached, he hissed. "Did you get it?"

Ventress switched the plate from one hand to the other, buying time to palm him the chip. He in turn, under the pretence of straightening his cuffs, slipped the chip into his wrist reader. Ventress made a start on the canapés as Muffin ran through the data. She was half-way through a particularly delicious fritter adorned with a dollop of dianoga cheese when he nodded.

"It's all here. Time to go."

They were in front of the double doors when it all went south. The doors swung open to reveal a Nightsister, clad in all her finery: the real one. Muffin gaped at the doppelganger, as did most of Security. Ventress took that opportunity, grabbing him by the scruff of his tux and hauling him through the milling crowd and down a side corridor, ignoring the shouts of indignant guests and angry security men.

Muffin found his feet after the first turn. She released her grip, urging him in front of her. He was no fighter, this one, not with that frame. Blaster fire started behind them, the laser bolts pinging off the marble walls. The mansion seemed endless, corridor after corridor filled with expensive artefacts on pedestals and artistic fripperies. Ventress sped past it all, Noisy Cricket in hand, Muffin panting in front of her as he ran. She had to hand it to him, Muffin kept his head, heading unerringly for the corner of the building where their speeder would be waiting for them in an alleyway.

They rounded a corner and suddenly there were black figures in front of them. Ventress tackled Muffin into a side room, just as Security opened fire. She blasted the door panel, taking care this time to brace herself for the Cricket's recoil. That should buy them a few minutes.

"Still got the chip?" she asked.

He nodded, holding up that precious scrap of plastoid. Ventress took it, tucking it into the compartment in her broach. Loud thuds started up outside as Security tried to force the door.

She looked around. They were in a kitchen of some type, cooking utensils hanging from the walls above the stoves, sinks and faucets on the far wall. The bench closest to them looked like it was set up for the morning meal, a number of snazzy looking toasters atop it. Ventress got an idea. With a single Force gesture, she ripped the gas line out from the stoves. Tibanna gas started hissing into the room.

"What are you doing?" Muffin said, horrified. "That stuff's flammable."

Ventress grinned. "I know. That's the idea." She hurled a stool at the window, but it bounced right back at her. _Right, toughened glass._ She scowled at the recalcitrant pane.

Muffin pried the data reader off his wrist and crossed to the window. A thin blue laser appeared and within seconds, Muffin was pushing a person-sized piece of glass into the shrubbery two floors below. "Now let's get out of here."

"A moment." Ventress hunted for something flammable.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, already half out of the window. The speeder hung obediently beside him.

"Buying us some time. If I can find a magazine or something, I can use it as a fuse in the toaster," Ventress explained as she rifled through drawers.

Muffin didn't come over and start helping like she thought he might. Instead, he pried off a shoe.

"What are you doing?" She stared at him.

He cracked open the heel, showing her a fistful of miniature thermal detonators. "How much of a delay do you want?"

"Ten seconds."

"Done. Let's go."

They tumbled into the speeder and Muffin gunned it. A huge explosion erupted behind them. Anyone in that room wasn't going to be coming after them anytime soon. Sadly, the three black flitters pursuing them didn't seem to get the hint that they didn't want company. The flitters screamed after Muffin and Asajj. There was a bright flash as they opened fire, the rounds heading right for Muffin.

Ventress lunged, dragging her spindly companion down just as blaster fire ripped through the space his head had been a moment ago.

"Hey!" He protested weakly from the speeder's footwell. "I'm flying here!"

"Fly faster," she gritted out. "They're gaining on us."

His face was white, but he nodded and adjusted those absurd glasses of his. He didn't so much as slow down, gunning the speeder's engines.

He caught her look and tapped one of the lenses. "Cameras in the front of the speeder." His pride at his gadgetry shone even through his fear. He continued wending their way through the air traffic at ridiculous speeds, all the while not glancing in front of them.

Ventress popped up and snapped off a few shots at the sinister, black flitters pursuing them. One of them swerved down a side alley and collided with a building, a fireball rising in the rapidly receding distance. Ventress grinned. _And here I thought working for the Republic was going to be no fun._ In spite of what she'd told Skywalker's little pet, there was something satisfying about knowing your enemy wasn't going to be getting back up anytime soon. Being shot at also tended to bring out her bad side.

As she watched, one of burly figures in the flitters began to stand up, no doubt trying to get into a firing position. Ventress kept up her smirk as she aimed, then squeezed the trigger. _Click_. She yanked on the trigger again, but nothing. The Kerkoidian brought up his gun and she dove for cover just in time.

"Something is wrong with this blaster, Muffin," she snarled.

"Power pack is probably drained," he said as he yanked on the steering yoke. The speeder tilted alarmingly as it zipped round a corner, making Ventress's stomach churn.

She tossed the useless blaster to one side, a not an insignificant feat in the cramped space. "This is why I should've brought my lightsabers," she griped.

"We've been over this," Muffin yelled over the din of protesting horns from the traffic around them. "They didn't fit in with your cover. But in any case, I made plans—"

He broke off, whipping the speeder suddenly onto its side to fit down a narrow alleyway. Ventress's heart squeezed, icy adrenaline surging, but then they were out of the small space. She didn't have time to relax though, because Muffin sent them into a barrel roll. The useless blaster clipped her cheek as it went flying out into the street.

She gripped the upholstery tighter, frustrated by her stomach's weakness. "Warn me next time!"

Muffin didn't even look at her, intent on whatever he saw in those lenses. "Sorry. We're five minutes away from the extraction point. The men are warming up the ship as we speak."

Blaster fire zinged around them: more than one blaster too. Apparently, the Kerkodian's friends had followed his lead. The speeder lurched, sparks flying as a stray round hit a sensitive spot.

"In my cane. Twist the top clockwise a quarter turn, then anti-clockwise for a full turn, then hit the stone on the top," he yelled.

Ventress seized the wooden cane that Muffin had been so proud of in his role as her lackey and did as he said. The wood split open to reveal two familiar, curved hilts. Ventress thumbed them on and scarlet blades sprang to life. Enough of being passively shot at. It was time to go on the offensive.

Time for some payback. Ventress rose from the speeder, a dervish clad in red and grey, two crimson blades in hand.

She batted away the first few laser rounds with her newly-lit 'sabers, deflecting them away from everyone. Then she reconsidered and started returning the blaster fire to sender. Most of the goons ducked down under her barrage, and Muffin took advantage of the lull to open the gap. There were two black flitters still after them though—two too many.

"Three minutes," Muffin yelled. "We've got to shake 'em!"

They must be coming up on the spaceport. She considered her options for an instant, cocking her head to one side even as she stepped out of the way of a streak of red laser fire. Then she hurled her 'saber.

It caught the flitter right down the middle, carving it in two like so much flimsy. One half spun away and hit the side of a building. The other hit the remaining flitter dead on and disappeared in a ball of flames. Ventress tugged with the Force and caught her 'saber cleanly as it flew back to her. With a snap-hiss, she extinguished both blades.

"All done." She dropped neatly back into the seat beside Muffin, who was still steering from the safety of the footwell. "You can come up now."

He popped up, hair sticking up in all directions. "They're gone?"

"They had to split." She couldn't help it.

He groaned. "That's terrible, you know that?"

"Perhaps."

"There it is." The drab grey monolith of the spaceport rose in front of them. Muffin zipped towards their berth. The familiar whine of engines greeted them as they drove up the ramp and onto the ship. They hit hard, even with the cargo nets out to cushion the impact. They broke atmo without incident and the ship jumped away, heading for Republic space.

Still sitting in the speeder as blurred stars streaked past the view ports, Muffin laughed. "We did it!"

Ventress retrieved the chip from its hiding place. "You've got the chip. Now I want my money."

He looked hurt. As though this were something more than a business transaction. She thrust away a twinge of guilt.

"It'll be waiting for you when we dock on Coruscant," he said.

"Good." Ventress handed over the chip and hopped out of the speeder.

"You could stay, you know," Muffin offered. "Get a job with the agency. Maybe even do this thing full-time."

She paused in the hatchway. "I'm not an employee-type. But you know my com number should something come up."

"It's a date then," Muffin called after her.

Ventress kept walking, but a tiny smile crossed her face. It _would _be good to see more of her Studly Muffin. Something to look forward to.

* * *

A/N: This fic has nods to Bond (ridiculous names, tuxedos, schmoozy gatherings, car/speeder chases and Ventress's "they had to split" line), Men in Black (Z and the Noisy Cricket gun), and Bourne (magazine in toaster explosion). I think I had as much fun subverting spy fiction tropes (like the shoe phone and bottomless magazines) as I did including them! Hope you enjoyed the piece.


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